


Hermione Granger: Parole Officer Series

by LissaDream, Snowblind12



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Felatio, Gen, Multi, One Shot, Other, Sex, Smut, did we mention sex?, extreme Hermione envy, hot bearded man, produce fondling, sexy Russian pet names and ramblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 08:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18890737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LissaDream/pseuds/LissaDream, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowblind12/pseuds/Snowblind12
Summary: A series of PWP one-shots of Hermione's life as a parole officer with her parolees.AD/HG





	Hermione Granger: Parole Officer Series

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Standard Fanfiction disclosures apply. We own no part of the Harry Potter world and make no money or profit from this fic.  
> Just a little foray and dipping of the proverbial toe into the world of Antomione. This is sexy smut, plain and simple. No complex plot here.  
> Tags: sex, multiple orgasms, sexy Russian pet names and ramblings, produce fondling, sex, cunnilingus, felatio, extreme Hermione envy, hot bearded man, one shot, did we mention sex?  
> A huge thank you to Anna and Caitlin for their help with the Russian translations!  
> We have a bunch of little one-shots tentatively planned that will run as part of this series. Each “chapter” will be a stand alone one-shot.  
> For those interested, next chap of Master Mine will post this Friday or Saturday. 😊  
> Please review if you are so inclined. Hope you have as much fun reading as we did writing!

 

* * *

**Part One of Hermione Granger: Parole Officer Series  
**How Do You Like Them Apples?****

 

****** **

 

* * *

Hermione stood in the organic section, her astute and assessing eyes fixed on the mirror that reflected the next aisle over; the produce section.

 

Dressed incognito with her hair wrapped up into a French twist and her face tucked down into the up-turned collar of her Muggle trench coat, dark tinted sunglasses hiding her eyes, one might ask what the witch was up to. She certainly wasn’t as inconspicuous as she thought she was. To the casual untrained eye, she screamed creepy stalker.

 

Truthfully, Hermione would agree. She was crap at this.

 

Unfortunately, the Reformed Convict Rehabilitation Program was down three parole officers and somehow Hermione was wrangled into filling one of the spots until a permanent replacement could be hired.

 

Being a public attorney, she was normally behind a desk or in the Wizengamot chambers defending some petty thief out of an Azkaban sentence, or one of the Weasley twins out of a public nuisance violation. It seemed the neighbors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes didn’t appreciate the loud bangs, strange odors and odd flashes of light that the apartment above the shop emitted into all hours of the night.

 

Hermione was great at her job. She knew it and so did everyone at the Ministry of Magic.

 

This, however, was not her strong suit. She had fought it. Just because she handled the appeal of a few Death Eater’s probation denials successfully, did not mean she should be responsible for them. She resented being pulled away from clients who needed her so that she could keep tabs on this man as well as the others she had been assigned to.

 

Unfortunately, her boss and the head of Magical Law Enforcement, who also happened to be her best – _or perhaps, not so best_ – friend, Harry Potter, didn’t agree with her. Which is how she found herself here, on a Friday afternoon, spying on one Antonin Dolohov as he fondled fruits and vegetables in the produce aisle.

 

As part of his probation rehab, the former Death Eater was required to live amongst Muggles, without the use of his wand, for six months. After that, he would be integrated back into the magical community. Being Muggleborn, and well acquainted with his case, Hermione was considered to be the perfect choice for this irritating job of glorified babysitter.

 

 _Just quit._ _Then they’ll be down a defense attorney as well. Would serve them right,_ she internally mumbled as she continued to secretly watch the wizard who was now flashing that irritatingly handsome grin at a hunched over, old woman with a cane.

 

“I never know which one to choose,” he said in a seemingly innocuous manner as his hands squeezed tomato after tomato, suggestively and tenderly. “Too firm, too soft?” He threw the ancient woman his signature smirk that Hermione dreaded; the teasing one that made her knees go weak.

 

The ex-convict’s blue eyes were alight with mischief as he shamelessly flirted with the old hag whom Hermione was certain would be whopping the man over the head with her cane at any second.

 

Instead, Hermione’s jaw fell in shock when the woman gave it right back to him.

 

“You need a firm grip to really tell,” she replied with a heavy Italian accent. “Roll them around in your palms, warm them up a bit. You’ll know when they’re ripe. They’ll practically burst in your hands.”

 

His smile morphed into a full grin. “Perhaps you can show me? I could use the practiced touch of an experienced woman.”

 

The hag flashed her seven teeth and cackled. “If I were a young woman of seventy, I’d be happy to knead your fruit, but I’m afraid arthritis has left these hands utterly useless.”

 

Antonin laughed at her good sport. “Ah well, my loss.”

 

Just then, a thirty-something year old female approached and took the old maid by the arm. She cut Dolohov a disapproving scowl as she led her away, saying, “Gran-mama, really! What are you doing talking to strange men?!”

 

As they walked off, the old woman turned towards her granddaughter and scolded in her heavy accent, “This is why I have no great grandbabies. You will never get a husband if you hide behind that electronic box all day and...” The voices trailed off as they made their way down the cereal aisle.

 

Hermione looked back at Dolohov to find a warm and seemingly nostalgic smile on his face as he continued staring at the spot the women had vacated. She remembered Dolohov speaking of his deceased grandmother, or babushka as he called her, with tremendous affection and Hermione imagined that was where his mind lay.

She sighed as she looked at her watch. Another ten minutes and she will have seen enough for today’s report and her weekend could begin. _Joy._

 

Going home to an empty apartment still felt strange despite being divorced for over a year. Her ex, Theodore Nott, had decided the warm thighs of his ex-girlfriend, Daphne Greengrass, felt better wrapped around his hips than Hermione’s. He had left her after three years of what Hermione had to admit was only a ho-hum marriage and, in truth, she wasn’t sad to see the back of him.

 

That reminded her. She needed to grab batteries.

 

Hermione repositioned herself as Dolohov made his way over to the apples where another poor victim would be assaulted with innuendo, no doubt.

 

Hermione smirked when her prediction was spot on.

 

“The Red and Delicious are just too big and heavy,” he volunteered to the unsuspecting middle-aged blonde. “The Fiji are just right, however. Don’t you think? More than a palm full is unnecessary, after all. There is no need to be a glutton.”

 

This stranger had no use for Dolohov’s teasing and was quick to depart without a word.

 

Dolohov sighed, bored, as he tossed the Fiji back amongst its brethren.

 

“I know you are watching, Printsessa,” he announced, his eyes still on the fruit.

 

Hermione froze. _Printsessa. Hmph_. It was what he called her despite knowing it irritated her to no end. She hated being called princess, whether in Russian or not.

 

Yes, his voice did funny things to her, and yes, she might have let him kiss her in a weak and lonely moment last Saturday, but that did not equate to the pet name stage of a relationship.

 

Last Saturday, when she was supposed to be dining alone at the bar of her favorite Muggle pub, the man had obtrusively crossed the street from what was the business acquaintance side of her life, to the personal. Why he had chosen that very corner establishment to spend his Saturday evening was as perplexing as it was irritating.

 

And, of course, he just _had_ to take the last empty bar seat, which happened to be next to hers.

 

And, of course, his criticism of her brand of vodka led to a battle of wills.

Being Russian, the man obviously thought he had some ingrained, innate skill and right to determine what vodka others should be drinking when he ought to be minding his own business and leaving her to hers.

 

If she hadn’t consumed three vodka martinis to prove to him that her choice was every bit as good as his, she wouldn’t have ended up letting him walk her to her Apparition spot.  

 

She certainly wouldn’t have allowed his arms to pin her up against a dark alley brick wall, and she _definitely_ wouldn’t have permitted his tender lips to land on hers, caressing them in a way that made her toes tingle.

Fortunately, when his wandering hand began unbuttoning her blouse right there in the alley, her good sense kicked in. She pushed away from him, Apparating to the safety of her apartment and the relief of her favorite vibrator, Fabio. Hence the much-needed AA’s.

She had not spoken to the infuriating man since then and she had only monitored him the minimal required amount of time over the past week. Well, except when he was in that music store trying out different guitars. Who knew the wizard could play a Muggle instrument so fluidly? Certainly not her! And she might have watched him a little longer than necessary that day in the park when he had his shirt off and was playing pick-up basketball. It had been simple logic that she hang around as he was destined to hurt himself. After all, when that happened, she was the one they would call.

“Printsessa, why are you hiding over here?” The soft, but masculine voice jolted her back to the present. She swallowed as her eyes slowly scanned up from the broad chest right in front of her, to the bearded face of the man who had been starring in her masturbatory fantasies all week.

She swallowed and took a step back. “I um, I was coming to check on you. You know, just doing my job.”

“You could have come over and said hello. There is no need to hide and watch from afar.”

She cleared the lump that was growing in her throat with a cough. “Yes, I could have…of course. However, article C, paragraph four of standard parole procedure, stipulates specifically…”

He took a step closer, his accent and deep blue eyes leaving her head feeling light. “Printsessa, you do not need the excuse of bureaucratic nonsense to justify watching me. Do you think I have not noticed you? Prowling around like a scared kitten, keeping your distance for fear of being seen, yet unable to walk away?”

“No, you are mistaken…”

“Shh. Enough, Kiska,” his baritone voice commanded softly. His eyes focused on a fallen and wayward strand of hair and her betraying breath hitched when his large, brutish hand tenderly tucked it behind her ear.

He took another step so that he was pressed up against her, his breath teasing the tender skin of her neck below her ear as he tilted his head down to whisper. “There is nothing I want more than to taste your sweet skin as my cock finds utopia between your thighs.” _Kiss_.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered as his strong hands wrapped around her neck, holding her head still. When she opened them, it was to find his steely gaze on hers. His expression was pleading and his voice earnest, “Please. You are so beautiful. Let me play music with your body. Give yourself to me, just tonight.”

Hermione’s heart was pounding. She wanted him. Salazar curse her, she truly did. But she hated herself for it. This was Antonin Dolohov! Reformed he may be, but the man had a dangerous past and had dark inclinations.

“I’ll make you feel so good,” he growled as his hands ran down her arms. “What do you have to go home to? An empty flat? A cold bed?” He kissed her temple. “Why that, when you can press up against my warm and inviting body as I take care of you and bring you pleasure to before-unseen heights…over and over again.”

Hermione was practically panting. “I…It’s that…well… I just…”

“Shh. My place is just around the corner.” He grabbed her hand. “Come, Kiska.”

Hermione’s eyes darted back and forth between his, seeing nothing but desire.

His desperate words were heavy with accent that was thicker than usual due to the rapidity with which they spilled from his mouth. “If at any time you say no, I will stop. You have my word. Death Eater I may have been, but I never force myself on the fairer sex. Never.” He looked up. “My babushka curse me from the clouds should I ever behave in such a way.”

Hermione’s brain was screaming to run but her feet were not cooperating. She started to shake her head no, but before she could get a word out, his lips were on hers. They started out gentle, just enough to freeze the denial that was about to spill. When her lips softened as her shock subsided, his arms pulled her closer and he deepened the kiss.

 _Safe._ It was such an odd feeling at such a moment, yet it was what came over her. She felt protected in his towering, strong form.

His breathing was heavy as he pulled back just enough to caress her cheek with his own. “I must have you. _I must!_ ”

Hermione surprised herself when she said what she wanted to say and not what she _should_ say. “Yes, I want you, too.”

It was all a blur. His fingers wrapped tighter around her smaller hand and he turned, moving quickly through the thickening crowd of after work grocery shoppers, pulling her, keeping her close. She was too distracted by what she had agreed to do to allow the embarrassment of their very public display by the organic pasta sauce unnerve her.

 _Hermione, what are you doing?_ Ron and Theo were the _only_ two men she had slept with in her twenty-nine years. _Are you really going to let Antonin Dolohov be your third? He might be reformed, but he is responsible for the scar you see every time you stand naked in front of the mirror._

Despite the efforts of her voice of reason, it was the voice of need and desire that was controlling Hermione at this particular moment. She knew it was impulsive and reckless and downright stupid, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her inner Gryffindor was roaring and basking in its moment of impulsive glory.

The minute he had her on the sidewalk, Dolohov wrapped his right arm around her, cocooning her into his side as he led with quick steps the short distance to his place.

Of course, Hermione knew exactly where his apartment was, seeing as she was the one who had found it for him. Located over the top of a pawn shop, the flat was small but adequate; A large main room with an eat in kitchen as well as a bathroom and a small bedroom. It wasn’t anything to write home about, but it was perfectly adequate for his needs. Afterall, it was only six months.

When they reached the street entrance of his building, Dolohov yanked the heavy door open and pressed his palm to her lower back, urging her inside. They climbed the steps, her heartrate seeming to climb in tandem with her ascent _. What are you doing?_ Her inner voice yelled at her in one last, futile attempt.

The minute he had her inside his flat, Dolohov’s fingers glanced her small shoulders as he slid off her trench coat. Hermione felt like she was burning up on the inside. Her heart continued to race with her nervous and charged energy. At the same time, she could feel a light, cool sweat on her brow and neck that left her with a chill. She rubbed her arms vigorously as he tossed her coat over the back of a chair.

“Are you cold?” His breath felt warm against her chilled neck as he came up behind her and enveloped her frame within his.

“I think I need a drink,” she said quietly, her acorn colored irises following him as he moved from behind her to the radiator and turned on the heat. He was dressed in Levi denims and a white, button down shirt with brown loafers. Such simple Muggle attire, yet he looked like sex on legs.

Hermione had never thought of Dolohov as an attractive man until recently. When she had been younger, he had seemed so very old and his countenance had been nothing but leering and dangerous when their paths had crossed during the war. But now, he looked so different.    

When he came out of Azkaban, he was leaner, and his eyes were less wild. He had a calmness about him that was somehow seductive. During his interview he had explained that Azkaban had been a time of reflection and a time to rethink his values and course in life. He had determined that if he were ever released, he would start anew and not repeat the mistakes of his youth. So far, he had been proving he meant to keep his word.

From the way his body had pressed against hers the week before, she knew the leanness of his body was hard muscle. From the way he had kissed her, she knew how it felt when his short beard had scratched her chin and nose most deliciously. His dark hair, which was very lightly streaked with silver, was thick and had felt incredible in her hands as she had held him in place as he ravaged her mouth.

Their eyes met over the top of the small eat-in kitchen table where he was pouring her drink. He must have seen in her eyes the heat that was causing her womb to flutter and her breathing to become ragged. Instantly, she knew her lips would not be touching the rim of the glass any time soon. He left both tumblers and the liquor where they stood and all but stalked her around the table.

His expression was so fierce and adamant, that she found herself taking a couple nervous steps back before he caught her to him. One hand tangled into her hair, ripping away the clip and causing a startled sound of pain mixed with pleasure to leave her as his other grasped her hip and pulled her flush into his body as he claimed her lips for the second time that evening.

Her hands, which she had raised to his chest (To push him away? To stop him? She didn’t know), were trapped between them as the grip on her hip relaxed and traversed her lower back before taking a full, firm handful of her backside. This caused her to gasp and allowed his hot tongue to slide into her mouth to tangle with her own. She moaned into their heated joining, fisting her fingers into the fabric that covered his hard chest as his hips rolled and she felt the bulge of his groin press into her stomach.

The grip on her head loosened and suddenly both hands were on her bum. With another roll of his hips, he wordlessly encouraged her to hop into his grasp. Her arms looped across his broad shoulders as her legs wrapped around his hips and he growled as the heat of her gusset covered his straining erection.

Hermione didn’t feel them move and the next thing she knew, she was being dropped onto her back on the bed. Her boots and socks were gone, and her pants unbuckled before she even opened her eyes. When she did, she found Dolohov shirtless and smirking at her leeringly as he dragged her denims over her hips and off her body completely. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and watched him with a heavy-lidded gaze.

“You have the most beautiful skin, Dorogaya,” he murmured in his deep, smooth voice as he ran roughened fingertips up her calves. Her head dropped back at the touch; it was wonderful. How long had she been celibate? It had been well over a year since her divorce and Fabio could only do so much for a girl.

Hermione heaved a breathy sigh as both hands caught her at the knees before his palms smoothed up her inner thighs. She was almost embarrassed with how easily she let them fall open, but the affect he was having on her was undeniable. She was on fire. Not even realizing she was holding her breath, it came out as a whine when he skipped over her knicker-covered mons completely. His chuckle made heat rise to her face, but her mortification was soon forgotten when he grasped the tails of her button-down top and ripped it with an impressive show of strength, sending buttons flying.

“Fuck!” she gasped, sitting up quickly. What was she doing? Her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t help the surge of fear. This man had tried to kill her once. But again, all thoughts were stopped when his mouth covered hers, his tongue delving deep. His hands smoothed over her shoulders, pushing the blouse off. His lips trailed over her cheek bone until he reached the lobe of one ear. He tugged it with his teeth, and her hands came up to grip the muscles of his back as she whimpered.

Hermione raked her nails lightly down his back as Dolohov’s lips moved down her neck. He chuckled as her nails sunk into the fabric still covering his arse as he unfastened her bra. She didn’t understand why he was moving so slowly; they had been so heated as he had carried her through his flat. As if he was reading her mind, his lips moved back to her ear.

“We have all night, Kiska,” he told her as he slipped the bra from between their bodies and let it fall to the floor. Without taking his eyes from hers, he continued, “There’s no reason to rush. I told you – unforeseen heights, over and over again.” His movements paused for a moment and Hermione couldn’t describe the ripple of anticipation that traveled the length of her spine as he slowly lowered her back to the bed and climbed over the top of her.

Dolohov knew he was a lucky son of a bitch to have this little witch in his bed. He also knew one wrong move would send her running. As he whispered his promises in her ear, he told himself that not only would he not give her cause to bolt, but he would make sure she would never want to leave.

Once they were on the bed, Dolohov sat back on his haunches to look at her and found himself frozen. How could he have forgotten? “Milaya,” he whispered, glancing up to find her watching him carefully. “Is this from…?”

He watched her as small, white teeth picked at the skin of her full lower lip. She nodded and trembled noticeably as he used the pad of one thumb to smooth over the purple starburst scar that sat just left of her sternum, under her breast. The tendrils spread slightly across her lower ribs and upper abdomen. “Prosti menja, vedma,” he murmured huskily before he leaned down to press a kiss to the middle of it.

Hermione had no idea what he said, but the look on his face coupled with his actions made tears spring to her eyes. Was he apologizing? That was…unexpected.

Her breath came out raggedly as he dragged his tongue down her stomach. Not pausing, he slipped his fingers into the waist band of her panties and slowly slid them over her hips. Dolohov found himself relieved when she raised herself enough that he could slide them the rest of the way off before he continued towards his target.

She groaned when he used his thumbs to part her labia, bringing her pretty hooded clit into view. A twinge of mortified heat crept up her body when he froze. Did he find her lacking? Why wasn’t he doing anything? She peeked down as she made to push away, only to have his firm grip hold her in place. “You have the most beautiful cunt I’ve ever seen,” he told her just before using the flat of his tongue to taste her from her opening to the top. Her head fell back as her hips bucked and her fingers dove into his hair, pulling tight as she swore loudly.

Then he was feasting on her clit. She detonated in less than two minutes and he couldn’t believe how fast he brought her to climax with just his mouth. Her body bowed and she shrieked her pleasure. Absentmindedly, he wondered when the last time was a man took care of her like this. Not wanting to overwhelm her, he moved from her clit to the soft skin of her inner thighs, laving them with wet, open mouthed kisses as she came down. _One_ , he thought with a slight curve to his lips as he used his pointer finger to lightly tease and play with the cream at her vaginal opening. He smoothed her essence through her labia and gave a low chuckle when her hips bucked slightly.

“Uhnn.” The little witch was breathing hard and her hands lay, palms up, on each side of her head. Dolohov was not going to allow her to get too comfortable, though. He slid his finger back down from her clit and right up her pretty little cunny. “Oh!” Hermione gasped, but he barely paid her mind as his middle finger joined the first. Gently, he beckoned, finding the rough, bumpy patch of flesh inside her that caused her to suck in a breath and hold it.

He brought his lips back to her bundle of nerves and sucked it between his lips, causing her to once more grasp his hair. “Fuck, oh! Fuck, Dolohov!” she crooned, jerking her hips in time with his more rapidly moving digits. This time, as she reached orgasm, her legs trembled fiercely just before a small squirt of liquid flooded his palm.

He grinned. _Two_. “Da, Lapushka. Come for me,” he growled, lifting his head to watch her while continuing to use his fingers to bring her pleasure. Her body was jerking spasmodically, and her neck was arched, mouth hanging open as she shouted nonsensical praise.

“Call me Antonin,” Dolohov directed absently as he slipped his fingers from her pussy and waited until she calmed. Only when she pushed herself up slightly to look at him, did he purposefully slip his fingers into his mouth to suck them clean. Her lips parting in lusty surprise made him smirk, and then he was pushing himself to stand, so he could rid himself of the clothing that was in the way.

He relished the way her eyes slid down his form and was pleased she was not shy with her own desires. Dolohov found himself slightly surprised when her orgasm-roughened voice sounded. “You are so fucking sexy,” Hermione told him as she rolled herself into a tall kneel.

Hermione felt alive. Gone was the unsure and timid version of herself from only moments ago. Little did he know, he had unleashed years’ worth of contained and repressed passion. The sexual confidence that her divorce had squandered was back and she was determined to take him to the same heights he was delivering.

Using his feet, Dolohov shoved his denims off the rest of the way and moved back to the bed, only to be taken aback a second time as she rolled onto her back and let her head hang off the edge of the bed. He looked down at her, his brows raised with question.

The grin she gave him made his bollocks clench, but the words almost stopped his heart. “I want you to fuck my mouth,” she said.

“B`lyad’, Kiska! Give a man a chance!” he growled as he caught the back of her neck in one palm before grasping his erection in the other. “But what the Printsessa wants, she shall receive.” He lined his cock up with her pouty lips and groaned lightly when her tongue peaked out to swipe away the precum that was waiting for her attention before she opened completely to allow him to push into the heated cavern.

Hermione moaned around him, loving the taste. As a young woman, before losing her virginity, she would never have guessed how much she would like sucking cock. The power it gave her was heady, however, and because of this her skill was great. Even Theo, during one of their many fights after she discovered his affair and they were going through their messy divorce, had informed her that one of the only things he would miss about her was the way she sucked him off. It still made her smug that the bitch he’d left her for could never compare in that department.

And it seemed Dolohov agreed, if the muttered exclamations in a mix of Russian and English were anything to go by. He paused in his movements when he hit the back of her throat gently after a handful of thrusts before he pulled back and completely out of her mouth.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable,” he answered.

She turned slightly so she could look at him fully. “I told you – I want you to fuck my mouth, Antonin. I’ll stop you if needed.”

She relished the way his eyes darkened, and she didn’t wait for his answer before she resituated herself and reached for his cock on her own this time, engulfing the head and sucking him past her lips. She wanted to laugh when more expletives fell from his lips when she reached around his hips to grip his bum with her nails and encouraged a faster pace.

Hermione relaxed her throat just in time for him to realize that she was serious and start moving faster, his cock slid into her throat and she hummed excitedly. She let her fingers delve into his arse crack, kneading the muscle and encouraging speed. She buried her nose in his bollocks, breathing in the scent of aroused male.

Steadily, she inhaled and exhaled through her nose with each retreat and relaxed her throat with each thrust. She moaned deeply in her chest when clever fingers sought out her clit and bucked when it became obvious that he could keep perfect time with both his thrusts and her pleasure. Within three minutes, she was becoming frantic with the way he played her body. Another moment more and she was flying for the third time in less than twenty minutes.

Dolohov continued to play her clit like a fiddle as he purposefully pulled himself from her mouth, so as not to suffocate her. Internally he couldn’t help but be glad she had come again so quickly, if he had let her suck him much longer the evening would have been over long before he would have been ready for it.

He had to take a couple deep breaths before his mind caught up. _Three_ , he thought determinedly before grasping her shoulder and spinning her on the bed, so she was in the middle on her back. She reached for him mindlessly and he wasted no more time as he crawled on top of her.

 “So good,” she was whispering over and over again. Dolohov slipped an arm under her shoulders and silenced her with his mouth while settling into the cradle between her thighs. He did not enter her, not yet. He needed to be back in full control before he did that. Instead, he showed her with his lips and tongue what he planned to do with his cock. The hand not holding her to him traversed her side, squeezing her hip, pulling her knee up, palming her breast, pinching her nipple, and brushing his thumb along her jaw. Her skin was like silk, and he found he couldn’t stop petting her.

Her hands were not idle either. She grasped his hair and gripped his shoulders before running her nails down his back to palm his bum. Dolohov knew he was working her into another frenzy when her hips started to roll rhythmically, and her legs wrapped around his hips. Only then did he decide he was ready.

Hermione could barely catch her breath and she didn’t care. He could suck her soul out of her body, as long as he continued to make her feel like this. She’d had no idea how much she had missed intimacy.

Her hands scrambled nonsensically all over his hard body. Whimpers caught in her throat, and she was breathing heavily and erratically through her nose. But when she felt him line his cock up as her soaking channel, she stopped breathing all together.

He stopped kissing her just long enough to confirm she was still with him completely. “You are sure, Printsessa?” he breathed.

“Gods, yes!” she mouthed, and then he was stretching her, sliding into her. She gave a low sob as he swore.

“Chert voz’mi, pchelka. Tak plotno, tak teplo! B`lyad’!” he growled, burying his face into her neck before nipping with his teeth.

Then he was moving, and Hermione’s vision exploded with stars. She clung to his shoulder, nails leaving crescent indents in his skin as he pounded her into the mattress. She could not catch his rhythm, and she was positive she had never, ever been fucked so thoroughly in her entire life. She came hard within five minutes. “ _Antonin_!” He never slowed his pace and she was howling praises, but _Four!_ raced through his mind as he grinned wickedly.

A few minutes later, he flipped her before reentering her from behind. When he grasped a handful of her curly mane and continued his brutal pace, she changed her mind. _Now_ she had never been fucked so thoroughly in her entire life.

“Oh, god!” she sobbed as he growled a litany of Russian at her. One hand had her left hip in a bruising grip while the other pulled her up by her hair so he could sink his teeth into the curve where her neck met her shoulder. She wrapped one arm awkwardly around her neck for leverage so she could meet him, thrust for thrust. She had no idea how long it had taken, but she was screaming her fifth orgasm before she knew it. This time a primal, masculine cry of completion mingled with her own.

“B`lyad’, Kiska!”

Dolohov continued to fuck her through their combined climax. Both of his hands were now supporting her hips because she could only cling to him as a deep, henceforth unexperienced satiation melted her bones. She gasped as he jerked hard, once, twice, thrice, as he emptied the rest of his seed into her with brutal force and the sound of slapping skin. Another snarl of pleasure left him, before they both collapsed forward, him covering her back as they gasped for air.

 _Five!_ Dolohov thought smugly as moment later as he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck before nuzzling the sweaty skin with his nose.

XXXXXX

When the morning light assaulted her senses brutally, Hermione rolled over to find the sheets next to her cold and empty. She climbed out of bed and pulled on a white button down that smelled of Russian sex god and padded the few steps into the main room. The ache between her legs was a not so gentle reminder of the bedroom Olympics she had participated in over and over again throughout the night.

While she had thought Antonin Dolohov had been sexy before, seeing him in faded jeans with a bare chest and bare feet as he read the morning paper, practically made her eyes burn with desire.

As if sensing her presence, his attention lazed from the printed words in his hands to the delicious little witch leaning in the bedroom door frame.

“Ah, Kiska, you are finally up.” As he stood, he threw her that same lop-sided grin that was responsible for the beginnings of… _Well, whatever this is_ , she mused.

When her stomach growled loudly in protest, his grin turned into a belly laugh as he pulled her close and wrapped her in his arms. “The lioness needs food.”

He kissed the top of her head before stepping away and moving to his ice box. He opened it and scratched his head before looking guiltily back at her. “Hmmm. I had gone to the Market with the intention of picking up groceries but…”

With a Slytherin-worthy smirk on her face, Hermione interrupted him. “But you got sidetracked hitting on women in the produce aisle.”

He chuckled lightly. “This is true, but that was only mischief. A way to amuse myself.”

“Hmm, yet you still came home without groceries.”

His smile grew wider. “Yes, a failed attempt, indeed. It is clear I am at a loss in this big Muggle city and can’t even accomplish the simplest of tasks.” His lust filled eyes draped down her half naked body.

Hermione smiled playfully as she approached him. “Well, I guess your parole officer will just have to keep a closer watch on you then, won’t she?”

* * *

 

Printsessa – Princess  
Kiska – Kitten (literal translation Pussy cat)  
Dorogaya – Sweetheart  
Milaya – Darling  
Prosti menja, vedma. – Forgive me, witch.  
Da, Lapushka. – Yes, Pet.  
B`lyad’, Kiska! – Fuck, Kitten!  
Chert voz’mi, pchelka. Tak plotno, tak teplo! B`lyad’! – Oh shit, honeybee. So wet, so warm! Fuck!


End file.
